


Coffee and Balsam and Leather-bound Books

by AutumnSwitch



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha!Dean, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Christmas, Explicit Sexual Content, Gift Exchange, Knotting, LiveJournal Secret Santa, M/M, Mating Bites, Mating Bond, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Rimming, Self Lubrication, Smut, True Mates, omega!Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-07 03:25:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3159449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutumnSwitch/pseuds/AutumnSwitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam makes it home for Christmas, but something is not right.  When Dean finds out why his brother's scent is unfamiliar, he is determined to make it all better with sex, love, and gingerbread.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the lj community [Instinctive Lust](http://instinctivelust.livejournal.com/) Warm Skin on Cold Nights winter/holiday gift exchange.

Greeting Sam as he steps out of baggage claim leaves Dean with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

The bustle of the airport is too loud, too many, too close. Jet-lagged arrivals bump into each other with grumbled pardons as they scramble over the conveyor belt to snatch up their travel-beaten packages. The twinkle lights and garland try their best to bring holiday cheer, but the effect fails to brighten Dean's spirit. He wants to escape this place of hello/goodbye, until we meet again. Even as he pulls his little brother into an embrace, his insides churn. 

Dean's arms lock around Sam, firm and unyielding because it's been too long. He wants to apologize for the things he said at Thanksgiving and give gratuitous thanks that Sam even considered showing up for Christmas. But Dean has no words because the man in his arms seems different. For a minute, he just stands there, forcing a smile and barely recognizing his brother. 

Besides a slight tan, and maybe a few less pounds, Sam looks and feels the same. His smell, however, is all kinds of wrong. 

Alarms sound in Dean's head and his nose twitches. The cloying scent of beta female and artificial pheromones cling to Sam's clothing. Probably some fad B.S. cologne popular in Hollywood. Friggen California hippie shit. Dean scoffs.

Sam tenses in his older brother's arms before pulling away. He wears a forced smile to match Dean's. Maybe coming home for the holiday was a bad idea. If he had given himself more time, maybe he could have found a way to... Sam can hear Dean sniffing him and, despite his blocker-numbed senses, the younger can feel distress rolling off his brother in waves. He tugs up at the collar of his jacket, trying to cover the offending odor of his own skin. 

The combination of pheromone blocker, heat suppressant, deodorant, and cologne is supposed to help. It all came highly recommended as the best defense, shielding the scent of unclaimed omega from the world. Sam has found it works well in crowded places, but he quickly realizes he'll need a better excuse for smelling like a whore house once they're in the car.

“My neighbor fell asleep on my shoulder,” Sam said under his breath, the apples of his cheeks flushing with the lie. “Think she drooled a little.”

“Well you friggen reek of her and her cheap-ass perfume,” Dean snarls at him, not buying the sleeping neighbor bit for a second. Sam was probably the bashful owner of a newly minted mile high club card and for some reason the thought infuriated him. Sam was supposed to be coming home so they could reconcile and celebrate a holiday together, not so he could bang some sleazy flight attendant. 

A pang of jealousy hits him square in the chest and he recoils at the unfamiliar sensation. Dean thinks that under different circumstances he would have been proud of Sam, called him a stud and punched him in the shoulder. Not today. Not when all he wants is to be with his brother and he can't even scent him properly. 

Frustration thick in his voice, Dean hunts for the exit. “What kind of skank 've you been ruttin' against anyway?”

Sam ducks his head and plucks at the strap of his duffel bag. “No one,” he says, hoping Dean will drop the subject. 

Catching sight of an arrow labeled 'garage', Dean takes the bag from him and follows the signs. “How was your flight?” 

His voice is more rough than Sam is used to and he tells Dean, “It was fine.”

“Don't know why you had to go running off to friggen Stanford. There are plenty of schools out here.” 

This isn't the first time Dean has grumbled about the distance, so Sam doesn't take offense. Instead, he finds it rather comforting and settles in for the short ride home. 

“Flying back and forth all the time,” Dean continues, “it's not safe. Metal death traps, 39,000 feet in the air. It's not natural.”

Shaking his head at his brother's old rant, Sam reaches for the radio. It's more to get a rise out of Dean than to change the station. His brother has always been oddly particular about his music.

Dean's hand grabs at his, but instead of the smack Sam was expecting, Dean's fingers wrap around his wrist. “Don't,” Dean glances over at his brother and for a second his fingers tighten, nails digging into his skin. The simple touch feels familiar and foreign at once; Dean shoves Sam's hand away from the dial. He grunts, trying to clear his throat and mind, “Driver picks the tunes, dude.”

Sam lets out a small huff of amusement, “That rule would be at least a little fair if you let me drive once in a while.” 

This used to feel good: Sam sitting beside him, the sound of his laughter. But without his scent, Sam is almost a stranger and that's farthest from what Sam should be. Dean sets his jaw in a hard line, cursing his senses, and looks out over the road. “Life's not about fair, Sammy.”

Sam rolls his eyes at Dean's melodramatics. “Didn't say it was.” He presses his forehead on the window and watches the snow-covered landscape roll by. Winchesters don't need to be reminded about what's fair. They'd gotten lessons in unfair since the beginning. But Dean already appears to be on edge, and to start an argument with him now would set the stage for a horrible holiday. Remembering the angry words exchanged in November, Sam keeps quiet to avoid fanning that fire. 

Mid-terms had been nearly over and Sam was exhausted. He and Dean had talked back and forth for weeks, trying to figure out a way for Sam to surprise their Dad and Bobby for Thanksgiving. The plan had stirred up an excitement in Dean that Sam hadn't heard since they were kids. So, when he had to break their plans, Sam felt beyond guilty.

Financially and logistically, Sam couldn't make it work. He tried explaining the situation to Dean, hoping his brother could see reason. Nothing could have been further from his expectation. Dean ranted and raved before shutting down completely. After several ignored phone calls, Sam let him have his space. 

For a week he didn't hear anything. Dean wouldn't even answer the phone on Thanksgiving Day. They went from daily contact to nothing, and the silence was deafening.

Sam took it hard. It was strange. School used to be an escape, a way he could cope with crazy family drama, but it now seemed a nuisance. Sam barely ate or slept, skipped classes, couldn't focus on his school work. His mind was perpetually occupied with thoughts of Dean. 

After leaving a particularly scathing message on Dean's voice mail, Sam's weirdness kicked into overdrive. He thought he understood what was happening. It was a relief, in a way. He remembered what his brother and father had told him about presentation: the fever, sweats, loss of control. The symptoms seemed to coincide.

Going through high school without experiencing the event left the family to believe Sam was beta. John couldn't understand it. His son was huge, brilliant, strong. An alpha for sure. But after long talks with each of his sons and several old friends, John had come to accept it. After a long line of alpha males, their family welcomed Sam as their first beta.

When Sam started tracking his change, however, he found that his experience wasn't quite matching up to what he had learned about alpha presentation. There was the fever, yes. But what followed was greedy looks from people on campus and everything after that pointed in another direction entirely. He winced at the sense memory of his first heat, the agony and fear. Luckily his roommate had seen his sister through her presentation that summer, so at least Sam hadn't been completely alone. 

Sam pressed his cheek more fully against the cool glass, holding back a sigh. How was he ever going to come out to his family as omega?

“You all right?” Dean steals little glances at his brother as the unsettled feeling in his stomach twists uncomfortably. Something is 'off' about Sam and it isn't just his scent. All it usually takes is a whiff of air to tell Dean what the people around him are feeling. Not being able to catch an accurate scent is disarming. He grabs onto his brother's broad shoulder and gives it a brief shake. “Hey.”

Sam finds himself rising into the touch. Relief courses through him as his head rolls over, his cheek grazing the warm skin of the alpha's hand. His eyes flick up at Dean and the older of the two returns his hand to the steering wheel. 

“You all right?” Dean asks again, softer than the first time.

“Sorry,” Sam mumbles. “Just tired, I guess.” It's far from the truth, but the best answer he can give. Sam thinks if he can just get home, take his next dose, distract himself with Bobby, Dad, and Rufus, then things can go back to some semblance of normal.

The rest of the ride home is quiet, neither brother daring to speak.

Dean takes Sam's bag through the living room at Bobby's and sets it down in the kitchen. He grabs a beer from the fridge as Sam questions the stillness of the house. 

“Dad and Bobby are away on a hunt. Took a couple of the guys. There's a young nest of vamps drawing too much attention to themselves.” He holds out a beer to his brother, raising an eyebrow when Sam refuses.

Unsure how alcohol and his cocktail of meds will interact, Sam settles for a cold glass of tap water instead. He sucks down the drink, frowning as it fails to quench his thirst. Filling the glass a second time, Sam turns toward his brother. He's prepared to make light conversation until his eyes land on Dean. 

His brother leans back on the counter, shirt lifting just enough to reveal a thin slip of skin and the cut of his hip. Did Dean always wear his jeans so low? Sam stares at him transfixed.

Ignorant of Sam's attention, Dean snaps the cap off his beer and slurps at the foam before it overflows. 

At the sight of Dean's tongue licking beer off the bottle's neck, Sam sucks in a breath. The flood of heat to his groin reminds him that he really needs to take that next dose of suppressant.

Sam excuses himself to the bathroom with some half-assed explanation about jet-lag and a shower. With his bag in hand, he heads upstairs. 

The house is dark and it must smell overwhelmingly of alpha and pine. His hand brushes the garland on the railing and the needles poke and irritate his hyper-sensitive skin. Overdue for his meds, Sam flips on the light switches as he rushes upstairs to the bathroom. 

He locks the door behind him and sets the shower faucet to hot. It always takes a few minutes for the water to warm up at Bobby's, so Sam uses the time to line up his prescription bottles on the vanity. Big and small, there's almost a dozen of them and not all have pharmacy labels. Even those that do are not prescribed to Sam specifically. Bottle by bottle, he goes down the row taking the maximum recommended dose of each. 

He had been warned that taking certain pills together and others on an empty stomach was not wise, but at this point he didn't care. He could feel that he is already coming apart at the seams, and this is only after an half hour in a car with one alpha. With his supplements, Sam came prepared to be surrounded by multiple Alphas for the next two weeks, but only if he stuck to his strict regimen of medication and hygiene products.

Sam prays the prescriptions will do their jobs, both shielding his family from finding out the truth about his omega presentation and fending off any upcoming heat. 

He lasts only a few minutes under the hot stream of water, before his stomach lurches. Sam holds himself up against the slippery tile as his intestines cramp and he begins to dry-heave. 

No, no, no. 

Shutting the tap and tripping out of the shower, Sam barely makes it to the toilet before his mouth is filled with the bitter taste of disintegrating caplets of medication. 

Kneeling at the bowl, Sam hurls, his stomach rejecting the recent dose. 

Dammit.

He ignores the knock on the door and barely registers when Dean jimmies it open. 

“Sam?” Dean takes one look at the counter and sees that his brother has gotten himself into some nasty shit. Afraid Sam has taken some kind of overdose - on what? - Dean lifts a pill bottle to read some convoluted name for a narcotic, he's sure, and swears. 

“It's not what you think,” Sam groans, his voice echoing off the porcelain. 

“Whatever.”

Sam braces himself for a cutting remark and the slam of the door, but instead is surprised by the feel of Dean's fingers in his hair. Sam lurches forward again, spitting up what has to be the last remnants of bile, and Dean is right there with him. 

The rough pads of Dean's fingers brush Sam's hair out of his face, his other hand rubbing slow circles over his back. “That's it, Champ. Let it all out.” Dean's breath comes warm and steady over Sam's shoulder. 

It's only natural for Dean to take care of Sam, especially as an alpha. But seeing his brother this sick wrenches at his heart and electrifies the instinct to protect in ways that Dean vaguely associates with the concept of mate. He takes deep, cleansing breaths and tries to clear his head. No, not mate, you stupid alpha. This is Sam.

Dean encourages his brother to lean back into his chest and rest between episodes, petting his hair as he considers what these feelings could mean. Family. That's it; Sam is family. It's not within the schema of mate that Dean is reacting, but a need to protect the pack. This new understanding comforts the older brother and he is able to tend to Sam without the added worry that he is stomping across some boundary. 

When Sam finally manages to drink a cup of water without vomiting it back up, Dean draws him a tepid bath. 

“You're gonna be all right. Let's just get you cleaned up.”

Dean looks back as he turns on the faucet. Sam sits against the wall with his hands in his lap. He's naked, yet covered, and Dean should not be wondering what's hidden beneath those large hands right now. It shouldn't take so much effort to avoid checking out his brother's package, but Dean finds himself lifting Sam toward the tub with his eyes glued to the ceiling. Helping Sam lift his legs over the lip of the tub is more tricky but, never looking below his brother's elbows, Dean eases Sam into the water. 

As soon as Dean's hands are back on him, Sam is caressed by feelings of safety and home. It shouldn't feel like this, Sam thinks. He should be embarrassed or shamed to have his brother touching his naked body. But the only thing causing Sam anxiety at the moment is what Dean will find when he looks down. When he sees that Sam is not what he thinks. 

Big as he is, Sam looks helpless and scared. Dean watches as Sam's shoulders sink into the bubble bath, his head tipped back, eyes closing. He can't bare to leave him alone, let Sam think that he could possibly judge or abandon him in a time of need. So, Dean does something he hasn't had to do in decades and readies himself to help Sam wash up. 

He grabs a clean wash rag and lathers it up with soap. Starting at Sam's neck, Dean wipes over the tanned skin. Sam allows the soft touches, biting back moans as the tension eases from his shoulders. The roughness of cloth and the ministrations of Dean's fingers work over his chest. It feels amazing and perfect and, at the same time, not enough. A surge of want curls in his abdomen.

Dean lifts Sam's arm, squeezing his bicep and massaging soap over the roped muscle. He rests Sam's forearm over his shoulder to get it out of the way and rolls up his sleeves. Dean strains in order to reach underneath and around Sam's back with the rag. 

Sam's warm skin so close to Dean's face irritates his nose like a sneeze that never comes. The smell of it stings and confuses his senses. This is his brother, his beta brother, but he smells like alpha, omega, beta, and something entirely artificial. Surely it's the side effect of his party-drug cocktail. Dean tries breathing through his mouth. 

Feeling Dean struggling to wash his back, Sam lifts himself to a seated position. He apologizes for getting Dean's shirt wet. 

“Don't sweat it, man.” Dean leaves a trail of lather across the blades of his brother's shoulders as his hand works it's way across the expanse of Sam's back. His ribs seem more prominent than they had this summer. Was this a result of the drugs? Had Sam mentioned something about losing weight while away at school? Dean doesn't think so, and he finds himself looking closely as if to diagnose the issue. 

Sam's head hangs forward lazily as Dean lifts handfuls of water to rinse the soap off his skin. “Thanks,” he mumbles, sounding half asleep. With Dean's hands on his back, Sam can't think of a time he has felt more at ease. Fear and tension seem fall away with Dean's careful attention.

Dean helps Sam lie back and slips the rag underneath the thick head of bubbles on the water. He moves gingerly, as to not disturb Sam's moment of peace. His fingers slide down the valley between Sam's pectorals, then trip over the muscles of his abdomen. 

With a pause at his belly button, Dean wonders if he should ask for Sam to wash himself. 

Like an answer to Dean's silent query, Sam bucks his hips slightly and closes his eyes. 

Dean rubs the soapy rag up and down Sam's stomach, on alert for any sounds of protest. None come. He pays special attention to the trail of coarse hair from the base of his belly button to the thicker patch of hair above his dick. 

“Dean, you don't have to nnuugh.”

Sam's moan catches Dean off-guard and his fingers slip lower, accidentally brushing against Sam's omega cock. He freezes on the soft curve of flesh, cradling it in his hand. Sam's eyes snap open and stare. 

Heart pounding, Dean scents the room with ragged huffs. The room is tainted with a headache-inducing mix of pheromone drugs and cologne, masking Sam's true scent. It doesn't match up, until it suddenly makes a lot of sense.

With an air of surrender Sam explains his regimen of heat-suppressants and blockers, the deodorizing sprays and cologne. He apologizes for not telling him sooner, scared of disappointing the family.

“Oh.” Dean doesn't even acknowledge that Sam could possibly run the risk of disappointing anyone. The guy is good-looking, smart, ambitious, and loved; there is nothing he could do or be that would turn Dean or their father away from him. 

Relief floods over Dean as he looks down at the giant omega. He releases his dick and strokes Sam's thigh absentmindedly. The wash rag forgotten and floating somewhere beneath the bubbles. “So, you're not on drugs?”

“Only prescriptions,” Sam clarifies as his breath catches in his throat. The feeling of Dean's hand on his thigh causes his hips to jerk of their own accord. “Dean, you're making it...”

Dean notices Sam's response to his touch and he licks his lips hungrily. He slips his hand down and around the base of the small cock, feeling it grow half-hard. With a knowing smirk, he palms the heat of Sam's scrotum, dragging his fingertips toward his hole. The pad of his thumb teases slow circles over the puckered flesh.

“What are you... oh, shit.” With a low, contented hum, Sam slides deeper into the water, chasing after the touch. Sam remembers the torment of his first heat cycle, when he had locked himself away with only fantasy. This is better, a voice inside of him sings, this is Dean.

“You should come,” Dean suggests, translating Sam's willingness from his body language. “It'll help.”

Sam finds himself smiling as he rolls his hips in time with his brother's touch. “Funny how your answer to everything is sex.”

“That may be so, but I think that in this particular case, it's the best option we have. Get the rest of those blockers out of your system. Clean out your pipes, if you will.” Dean massages the weight of Sam's sack, wondering if an omega produces come. 

Sam gasps, struggling with ambivalence. Pleasure rolls under his skin, his body reacting feverishly to the alpha's attention. Meanwhile, he whimpers warning about withdrawal and rebound heat. 

Dean starts to realize the predicament they're in and wrestles with his own feelings. He's scared of Sam taking the medication that made him sick, but he also worries about Sam going into heat. Dean has obviously never been through an omega cycle, but he's been in rut four times per year since he was thirteen and knows that it can be quiet unpleasant to go through without a mate. “I don't have any toys or, ya know, rubber knots for you to play with,” he admits apologetically. “Um, I could get some.”

“Dean, no. I don't need that stuff. I'll make do on my own.”

Dean shakes his head, his hand giving gentle squeezes to Sam's balls without thought. “I get that you're new at this and all, but maybe you should think about it. I know when I'm in rut nothing can satisfy like a good fuck.”

Sam lets out a long stream of air before answering adamantly, “I'm not gonna shove some dildo up my ass, no thank you.”

“Well, there is an alternative,” Dean returns to massaging Sam's hole, surprised by the heat of it. It's slippery with something thicker than water or soap and Dean works his fingertip into Sam's ass with enthusiasm. 

Sam clenches around the intrusion and a little punch of sound escapes his throat. 

“Hurts?”

Sam shakes his head, hair whipping over his face. “It's good. Keep going.”

Dean uses his free hand to stroke Sam's cheek as he coaxes his finger further past the sphincter. Soft words in a hoarse whisper, Dean soothes the young omega with touch and sound. “It's gonna be OK, Sammy. I'll take care of you.”

It isn't long before Sam is loose enough to take another finger, and when Dean bumps into his sweet spot he is rewarded by a sharp sound of surprise from Sam's lips. Finding the bundle of nerve endings deep in his ass, Dean smirks. His fingers rub and tease, surrounded by slick and heat. With a come hither motion over the prostate, Dean draws low moans from Sam. 

Sam shudders and Dean's body responds with a jolt. There's a tug in his groin and a sudden sense of weight in his cock as it swells against the side of the tub. 

Still confined to his jeans, Dean shifts uncomfortably, his attention now split between his growing erection and the clenching muscle around his fingers. 

Dean buries his fingers deeper and Sam gives a deep groan of pleasure and gratitude. Sam sits into the press of Dean's hand and rolls his hips. Watching Sam fuck his fingers, Dean feels his dick strain against the crotch of his pants. If he could just find the right position, maybe he could rub against the cool porcelain and relieve some of the building pressure. 

Dean abandons that idea as Sam's breath comes faster. Soon he's panting, gripping the edge of the bathtub so hard his knuckles are white. He bucks around Dean's fingers, lifting himself halfway off and then grinding down hard. With another jerk of his hips, Sam throws his head and shoulders back, arching out of the water. His face contorts in a silent scream as he comes. 

Dean's fingers feel as though they could be swallowed up as the contracting sphincter refuses to release it's hold. With a tug, Dean pulls his fingers from Sam and out of the water.

He presses his palm against his enduring erection, but it does little to ease the ache. Dean's mind is clouded with want and he finds himself with slick-covered fingers at his lips before he realizes what he's doing. Suddenly aware, Dean jerks his hand away and wipes his fingers on the bathmat.

“Um,” he looks down at his brother and sees Sam blissed out, eyes hooded and still breathing hard. “How do you feel?”

Sam gives a low sound of satisfaction and slides under the water until just his face and knees are exposed. “Great.”

“Great,” Dean parrots back to him. “I mean, good. I'll, uh, let you finish up.”

Sam blinks up at him, hearing Dean start to leave. He catches a glimpse of the bulge between his brother's thighs. “Oh. Do you want... I could... reciprocate?”

“Nah, dude. That was for you.” Dean gathers up the clothes, crinkling his nose at the stench of false pheromone and scowling at the vanity of pill bottles.

“Hey, where are you going with those?” He lifts his head with the question.

“Fireplace. Gonna burn 'em.”

“Heh,” Sam settles back with light laughter until he considers that Dean may have been serious.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam and Dean are trying to act normal and make small talk around the living room as they cautiously wait for signs of Sam's forewarned rebound heat. Sam sees the house has been dressed up, festive with a tree in the corner of the living room, stockings hung over the fireplace mantle, a sprig of holly over the entrance to the kitchen. 

“Dean, you did all this?” He's never seen Bobby decorate for any holiday and turns to his brother with a note of surprise.

Dean surveys the room, picking out things that would have looked better if he knew what the heck he was doing. He rolls his eyes at the pile of tinsel and tape that had fallen from the wall. Who knew what that stringy crap was for anyhow? “Tried to do it like you used to.”

Sam hasn't decorated for Christmas since they were kids. Not since the Christmas Eve when Dean had informed him that, while monsters are real, Santa Claus, in fact, was not. Back then, Sam had used crumpled balls of newspaper for ornaments and hung shoestrings over doorways as mistletoe. It warms his heart to see how Dean incorporated the little touches he remembered from their childhood. Of course, Sam now knows that tinsel belongs on the tree, but he smiles at Dean's effort.

Dean will admit with zeal that he is not very good at the homemaking thing. Beyond his status as alpha, he has always been much more comfortable when charged with bringing home the bacon. Not so much with the cooking and cleaning. But that's not to say he wouldn't step up when it's needed. And since Sam refused to come home on Thanksgiving, Dean has felt compelled to demonstrate to Sam that he is worth coming home to.

When the coffee pot announces a fresh brew, the boys head to the kitchen for refreshment. They sit across from each other at the kitchen table, Dean's toe knocking against the leg of Sam's chair as they sip on warm mugs of tar. Dean really should have paid more attention to his eye-balling the amount of grinds for the filter. 

“I don't want you taking that crap,” Dean says suddenly, pouring a hefty amount of gingerbread creamer into Sam's cup. His eyes glare at some invisible offense on the tabletop as he avoids Sam's stare.

His brother takes a sip of coffee before responding. “Dean, plenty of omegas are on them at school. I just have to find the right dose.”

Dean's lip curls at the mention of Stanford and drugs. He shakes the bottle of sweetener angrily before adding it to his own coffee. It splashes from his cup and onto his fingers, but Dean doesn't care. “That shit made you sick,” he barks as his hand comes down on the cap, swiftly clicking the bottle shut. It makes a thud as Dean drops it on the table between them.

“I must have taken the doses too close together or something,” Sam reasons, speaking softly to reassure his brother. “Really, I feel fine now.”

“No, I don't like it.” He lifts his hand to his mouth, licking the cream and gagging at the taste. Didn't he wash his hands after... no, probably not. Fuck, the gingerbread flavor does nothing to mask the bleachy taste of Sam's drug-laden slick. “It's wrong, putting all those chemicals in your body.”

Sam frowns at his brother's huff disapproval. “It's unlikely I'll be able to stop them, Dean.” But he wants to. For Dean, Sam wants to throw it all away: the suppressants, undergrad, law school, anything. Everything, if meant Dean would be happy. When did his feelings change? When did he become so dependent on Dean's acceptance and approval? Sam wonders if Dean could ever understand, could want for him the same way. “An unclaimed omega can't just wander around a college campus. It's unsafe.”

A deep rumble starts in Dean's chest and his hands clench into fists on his lap. “No one's gonna hurt you,” his voice suddenly sounding as if it's been dragged over rocks. Sam's return to Stanford is inevitable, but the thought of him being pursued or ogled by young, horny alphas fills him with a madness unlike anything he had experienced before. Dean breathes heavily through his nose in an effort to temper his rage. He avoids Sam's gaze. “ I won't let them.”

Sam's jaw drops at the sight of his brother's display. To see Dean get worked up like this over a perceived threat to his safety, feral and wild, is hot. Sam licks at his bottom lip and stares. Dean is strong and powerful, everything Sam could ask for in an alpha. He hums at the sight of Dean's possessive posture, knowing it's for him, and presses back in the chair. The small movement allows a trail of slick to trickle from his hole. 

He can tell the moment Dean catches the scent.

Dean's eyes flick up at Sam and narrow. They darken with the bloom of his pupils and his nostrils flare. He really should have taken care of himself after helping Sam in the tub. Maybe he even should have insisted he get a hotel room until Sam's heat passed. Dean feels his blood rise to a boil.

After an audible gulp, Dean barks out a warning. “If you don't want this, you need to go. Now.”

Sam doesn't move, the seat of his pants wet with leaking arousal. “Gonna protect me? Alpha?” The feel of that title on his lips sends out another rush of slick. Fuck. Dean, his alpha? He blinks and Dean pushes himself from the table abruptly.

Stumbling over his own feet, Dean backs away from his brother. He's afraid of losing control, of being exactly the kind of alpha he hated. The kind that takes omegas like conquests, blames their hormones for their actions, and nevermind the damage they leave in their wake. Dean wouldn't be like that, couldn't. He cares too much, especially about Sam, always about Sam. The biggest reasons he never sought a mate are his innate sense of duty and fidelity to Sam. And as Sam calls him alpha, Dean can't help but wish his brother knew the truth.

But Sam continues to tease, the scent of Dean finally breaking through the fading blocker and sparking a deep desire to be filled. “Take care of me, Alpha. You said you would take care of me.” Sam stands from his chair and Dean is hit with a fresh wave of sweet smelling omega slick. This time it's much less stringent and Dean would gloat that his orgasm-remedy was working if it wasn't simultaneously backfiring.

“You don't know what you're doing, Sam. You don't know what you're asking of me.” Dean is painfully hard at the thought of fulfilling his promise to Sam. He would take care of him, always. And maybe that meant helping Sam through his heat, but it would never mean tackling him into submission and fucking him without consent. Afraid that is exactly what his instincts are prompting, Dean considers locking himself in the basement until Sam is no longer as appealing as a rare, juicy steak. 

“Go, Sam. Get outta here.” Heat builds behind his eyes as he takes in the sight of his brother's broad shoulders, narrow waist, and muscled legs. His mouth waters at the thought of a chase. 

“Alpha.”

“Don't,” his voice is pained as he fights against his desire to act on years of pent-up sexual frustration.

“Dean,” Sam takes a few steps forward, bringing himself closer to his older brother. 

Dean crowds himself into the corner of the room, clawing at the wall behind him. He turns his head away, his eyes clenched shut, and barks, “Go to your room, Sam!”

The rejection hits him like a truck and his stomach drops. “I...” Sam is frozen in place for a moment before he makes his retreat to the hallway. He rushes upstairs in a huff of failure. Is he so undesirable? Just an hour ago, Dean's fist was halfway up his ass. Was Dean really going to start feeling guilty about it now?

Sam slams the door behind him and stomps into the room. He finds the bedroom he shares with Dean has also been decorated for the season. There's an odd-looking elf doll seated at their desk, a bowl of pine cones, and a scraggly cut evergreen strung up with lights. Sam thinks his blockers must be really wearing thin because he can practically taste the air: pine and cinnamon, and alpha musk.

All around him is the scent of alpha. And not just any alpha; it's Dean. The heady scent of motor oil, firewood, and leather assaults him from all angles. 

Sam groans as he throws himself face down on the bed. The sheets taunt him with Dean's scent as he ruts against the mattress. As his missed dose fails to suppress the impeding heat, Sam becomes increasingly uncomfortable. He presses his face into a pillow to muffle his lamentation with every thrust of his hips.

Slick pools between his thighs, lubricating his cock as it slides over the soft material of his sweat pants. Sam slips his hand under the waistband of his sweats and drags a finger along the cleft of his ass. His brother's name is on his lips as a fingertip brushes over his puckered ring of muscle. 

“Dean. Alpha. Please.” Sam swirls his finger around the sensitive bud, drawing out a thick spurt of the oily discharge. Still getting used to his heightened senses, Sam doesn't recognize a change in the room until he hears the door click shut. His hand is still in his pants when he turns over.

There's a question on Dean's lips and Sam's desperate whimper is all the answer he needs. Dean pounces into the room, bracing himself against the foot of the bed. His nose twitches with the sweet smell of Sam's arousal and his spine arches with a howl.

“You're so wet,” he says breathless. Dean's eyes are wide, black with just the faintest ring of green.

“For you,” Sam says throatily, bucking his hips at the sound of his brother's growl.

“For... me.”

“Only you. Always you.” The truth of Sam's confession weighs in the air like a ton of bricks. “Alpha,” he calls out, this time with a sincerity neither one of them can deny.

“Don't, Sam. Don't say it, unless... not unless you mean it.” 

“Want... Take me, alpha. Dean.”

Licking his lips, hands dragging over the rough jean of his thighs, “Can I- please, can I touch you?” He crawls onto the bed, knees and hands on opposite sides of Sam's hips and shoulders. Dean hovers over his brother, penning him in. 

Sam writhes on the bed, “You mean, like before?”

“No.” Dean's look is smoldering as he holds his brother's gaze. The promise of so much more evident in the possessive cage of his body over Sam's. Dean brings his face down to Sam's, licks at his lips. “Need more than that.”

Sam reaches up and drags Dean's head toward him. Their foreheads press together. “I need you too,” Sam breathes between them before crushing his mouth into his brother's. The kiss isn't frantic like Sam imagined it would be, but it doesn't want for passion either. 

Dean's lips are full, soft, and warm as they move against Sam's mouth. His tongue probing gently for entrance. When it's granted, Dean is licking past his lips, exploring the moist heat of Sam's mouth. Sam's tongue meets his and it's like a static spark. A surge of energy courses through Dean and throbs in his thick, alpha cock.

–

Lying in a mess of cooling sweat and slick, the brothers are quiet as they relive their own interpretation of what transpired. 

Dean is struggling to scent Sam properly as he wills away the lingering stiffness between his legs. He pinches at his nose with something like sadness and assumes Sam is regretting their love making. He thinks maybe the new omega fell prey to the insatiable desire of his rebound heat, that Dean was more convenience than choice. 

But Sam is sated and he doesn't seem out of control with lust, so Dean waits.

In the afterglow, Sam finds he is disappointed rather than satisfied. The effects of the suppressant still interfere with his ability to scent Dean and it leaves him restless. He lays stark still beside his brother, worried by Dean's silence and pretending to have fallen asleep. 

He's on his side, back to Dean, utterly confused. He doesn't think he misunderstood the promise of Dean's eyes and behavior. He was expecting to be claimed, knotted, bred up. But Dean had pulled out after Sam's orgasm, for the second time not allowing himself to come. 

Sam focuses on his breathing, determined to keep it steady under the guise of sleep.

Never one with much patience, Dean turns toward his brother. His body curls against Sam's back and he holds onto his muscled arm possessively. Dean nuzzles into the back of Sam's neck, just under the ends of his dark hair. 

This is the spot, Dean thinks as he presses his tongue into the sharp points of his canines. He's half lost in the fantasy of sinking his teeth into his brother, laying claim on him. He bites down on his tongue and it starts to bleed, but it's not his own blood he yearns to taste. He closes his eyes and falls asleep, cuddled into his brother's warmth.


	3. Chapter 3

Beneath the lingering falseness of suppressant, Dean can finally smell Sam. He wakes to the scent of coffee and balsam and leather-bound books. They have never appealed to Dean as much as they do in this moment. He presses his mouth against Sam's skin between his shoulders. The soft kiss becomes something feral as he licks and sucks a temporary mark into his brother's flesh. 

Sam moans. 

Still asleep, Dean thinks, but responding to the sensation all the same. He eases up, letting his teeth graze along the top of Sam's spine, and then he hears it. There's a whimper, sniff, and swallow. Definitely awake. Dean pulls his mouth off his brother and wraps an arm tightly around his waist. 

Sam rolls within Dean's embrace. 

“Didn't mean to wake you,” Dean whispers, pressing more fully along the length of Sam's body, nosing into his brother's cheek.

Their hearts pound an erratic rhythm as Sam reaches up between them to caress Dean's body. He can't quite meet Dean's eyes, afraid he'll see the dampness of his lashes. Dean's always tried to keep his emotions bottled-up and Sam thinks that maybe if they keep it physical, maybe Dean will want him for at least a little while longer. 

Sam keens as he drags his hands up Dean's torso. The feel of the alpha's taught stomach and firm chest leave Sam breathless and his ass clenches in an attempt to hold back the slick. Despite his effort, a hot line of lubricant escapes the tight hole and Sam arches back. His nails dig into the flesh of Dean's pectorals, catching on a nipple. Dean hisses at the sensation, but Sam's mouth clamps onto the sensitive bud before his body can register any pain. 

Dean gives into Sam's physical needs, lending out his body again. This time, scenting as he goes, cautious not to muddy the experience with emotions if they are not reciprocated. Dean leans into his brother, his dick curling up to meet Sam's stomach. The head is so filled with blood it's nearly purple and it drools precome over Sam's smaller, omega cock. Focusing on the bodily sensation, he is able to enjoy the warm slide. Dean grinds their dicks together delicately, already teetering on the edge of orgasm. 

Their eyes lock and Dean reaches down with both his hands. One gives a firm hold at the base of his cock, the other jacks Sam against him. Sam's eyes close and he throws his head back, exposing the supple skin of his throat. Dean's tongue leaves a hot, wet trail along Sam's neck as he moves up to his brother's ear. He mouths at Sam's earlobe, drawing out frenzied noises from the omega. 

“Please, Dean. Please.”

“Tell me, Sammy,” he breathes heavily. “Tell me what you want.”

“Please.”

“I need... need you to say it. I need to hear it.” Dean sniffs at Sam in earnest, trying and failing to discern the full truth of Sam's pained whimpering. 

Sam rolls on his stomach, unable to find the words. How do you confess to your brother that you want to be his, forever? 

Rising to his knees, leaning forward on his elbows, Sam lifts his ass in blatant presentation. The crease between his cheeks glistens and drips with slick and Dean can finally – finally – scent the omega's natural musk. 

His mind flashes a blinding white. Breed. Mate. These things are clear to Dean now; there is no more question.

He scrambles between his brother's feet and spreads his ass with gentle hands. He buries his nose in the cleft, his tongue lapping hungrily at Sam's sweetness. He tastes of cinnamon spice and sugar, hot apples and a hint of bourbon. The tip of his tongue dances around the hole and then he's sucking at the puckered flesh, drinking him in with urgency.

Dean comes up for air, gasping. His fingers dig into Sam's rounded ass as he verbalizes his claim like it's a revelation, “Mine. You're mine.”

Sam pushes his ass back, determinedly seeking Dean. His tongue, a finger, his cock. At this point, anything will do. He is Dean's and nothing has ever felt so right or so real. 

Dean spreads him further, letting the air cool Sam's wet hole. “Say it,” he commands. “Come on, Sam. Say it. For me.”

“I-” Sam's breath hitches as Dean blows a burst of air over his wet skin. “Yours, alpha. Yes. Dean, I'm yours.”

Dean's face wedges between his ass cheeks again and strong hands slide over his hips as they seek steady purchase. Dean's fingers wrap around his omega's jutting hip bones as his tongue drags from Sam's tail bone, down his crack, and under to his scrotum. He laves at the vestigial sack and circles Sam's asshole with a fingertip. 

Sam purrs under his ministrations, encouraging Dean's efforts. Sam's hole is hot and open, winking at Dean as he massages the slippery flesh. He presses in one finger, gingerly. He worries Sam may be sore from their earlier romp, knowing that was his first time taking an alpha cock. And Dean has much bigger plans for his beautiful omega this time around. 

Dean kisses up the curve of Sam's ass until he's nibbling at the base of his spine. 

Sam bucks his hips forward and Dean knows what he needs. His hand wraps around Sam's throbbing erection. The omega cock is much smaller than Dean's own alpha dick, and he strokes it gently as if afraid Sam could break.

“More!” Sam cries out, protesting against Dean's loose grip and languid touch. 

The sound of his omega's wanton cry sets Dean's blood to fire. “Fuck, Sam.” He dips his hand in a generous pool of slick before taking a firm hold of Sam's cock. He tugs on the fevered flesh in earnest, his other hand working a second finger into Sam's leaking pucker. 

Sam thrusts back on Dean's fingers, pressing them deeper. “Yes, fuck, please.” He surges forward into Dean's twisting fist and sits back again, chasing the jolts of pleasure both in him and around him. 

Heat and pheromones roll off him in waves and Sam is covered in a sheen of sweat. His long hair sticks to his damp forehead and neck in clumps. Dean ducks his head to lick at a small pool of sweat gathering at the base of Sam's spine. He can taste it: Sam's unspoken desire.

There's a renewed sense of urgency and desperation in his thrusts, the need to be filled, claimed, bred surfacing with an intensity Sam could have never prepared for. “Dean,” he gasps, a lewd moan caught in his throat.

“I got you,” Dean adds a third finger, working Sam's tight hole wider. Sam sits back on Dean's fingers, rolling his hips, seeking the stretch of a fourth. 

Dean obliges until Sam's panting nears hyperventilation. “Fuck. Alpha!”

Dean releases Sam's dick and it sways between his thighs disappointed at being tossed aside. But then it's forgotten as Dean transfers his grip and Sam's ass feels the bump of the alpha's swollen cock. 

With one hand on Sam's hip and the other lifting his heavy length, Dean lines himself up behind Sam. The head of his cock dribbles another line of precome as it slides over Sam's hole. Slick and semen swirl together as Dean guides himself in. They're both eager for it, but Dean takes it slow. 

There's a burning stretch as Sam's ass accepts the fat head of Dean's cock. Another push and then Sam's hole is squeezing around the edge of it, catching on the rim. Dean rubs soothing circles over Sam's lower back as he lets his body adjust to the intrusion. 

“I'm OK. Keep going,” Sam brings a hand around back, reaching for Dean's hip, coaxing him deeper.

Dean nudges forward, inch by agonizing inch, and he wonders when his well of self-control will come up dry. It feels like minutes before he's bottomed out, his body aligning with Sam's. 

Impatiently, Sam grunts and presses back on Dean's dick, as if searching for more and Dean pulls them together hard, proving to Sam he can't possibly take another inch. 

Dean can feel Sam inside, his body swallowing him completely and he knows that the fit is perfect. It's like a vacuum as Dean pulls himself almost completely out of Sam's ass, a sinful tug that yearns for the following thrust. 

He rests his forehead on Sam's back as his hips jerk forward. He buries his cock deep into Sam again. 

Swollen veins rope around his length, little bumps of pleasure as the ribbing moves past of Sam's sensitive ring. Dean feels his climax building and chokes the base of his dick harder to stave off the deluge. 

Dean pauses his movements to regain some control, then adopts a slow rhythm. He eases himself in and out of Sam with precision up to the point where he's got Sam begging: more, harder, faster. Hearing Sam's pleas, Dean does the only thing he can. 

Giving in, Dean uses both hands to hold Sam's hips and he's picking up the pace, ramming into his tight ass with each flick of his hips. He won't last long, no way in hell. So when he hears Sam release a guttural sound, he knows he's found his prostate. Dean doesn't stray, grinding the head of his cock into the spot until Sam sees stars. 

Sam's hands curl into fists and he bites at his wrist, panting and drooling into the mattress. “Fu-. So good. Fill me so... good.”

Dean's fingers dig harder until Sam's sure to be sporting ten small bruises in the morning. His hips stutter and his knot grows rapidly. He's so close to the precipice, it feels dangerous. Like toppling over the edge could mean certain death. But he won't slow his pace, hitting Sam's prostate with every push. A little death suddenly seems like a small price to pay for the chance to see heaven. 

“Want... Dean. Give it... me.” Sam's words are garbled, punched out of him with Dean's frantic thrusts. “I can take it, Dean. Got to... gimme your knot.”

“Nnugh!” With a final snap of his hips, Dean's knot catches. He falls forward and he's shaking apart. His orgasm tears out of him in thick, hot ropes. 

Beneath him, Dean feels Sam lose himself with a shout, his body seizing. His ass milks Dean's cock, urging the release of additional spurts of come. Dean sinks his teeth into the muscle of Sam's neck as he reaches climax a second and third time; his head in the clouds as he spills his seed.

The brothers lie on their sides, wholly spent. Dean's fingers splay over Sam's once flat stomach as it swells, heavy with the fullness of Dean's load. He whispers lovingly over his omega's shoulder, holding him close as they wait for Dean's knot to subside. His hand slides over Sam's slightly distended belly. “Took it all, so good for me, Sammy.”

Sam threads his fingers with Dean's and stills his touch. Their hands rest over the bump as Sam asks, “What if...” 

Dean grins with hope, satisfaction. “Don't worry about a thing. I'll take care of you. I always will,” he answers between sweet kisses. He leaves a trail of them along Sam's shoulder blade. “So beautiful, Baby.” 

Dean considers the truth of it. Sam is the most beautiful creature he has ever seen and now he belongs to him. Dean licks at the broken skin of Sam's back. His bite marking claim.

Whether it was fate, biology, or some combination of factors, it was real. And Dean found himself happy. For the first time in a long time, he was grinning like a lovestruck idiot and it was all at the wonderful thought that his brother may soon be fat with their litter.


	4. Chapter 4

Shuffling around the kitchen, Dean searches for something to eat. There's a half-thawed turkey in the fridge, but Bobby had warned him to keep his paws off it by penalty of death. 

Too hungry to wait around for Dean to sort through the probably-molded left overs, Sam quickly finds a frozen pizza. He tears open the cardboard box to liberate their dinner and sets the oven to preheat. “We got a few minutes while it gets hot,” he waggles his eyebrows at his brother. 

Dean scents the air, “You feel it coming on already?” He certainly wouldn't protest to another go around, but if the waves were coming this fast they'd need a better plan to hydrate and refuel.

Sam smiles, curling his fingers around the back of Dean's neck. His nails scratch at the short hairs behind his ear. “Don't have to be in heat to want a kiss, do I?”

He's drawn to Dean by a force like gravity, the nearer he gets, the stronger the pull. Sam tugs his little alpha close and presses his nose into his neck, awed by his developing senses. Sam whines as his teeth graze Dean's skin and he can smell more things about his brother than he can put to words. Above all he scents alpha and mate. He feels the bond between them like it's a solid mass. 

Dean tilts their heads and raises onto his toes until their mouths are slotted together. 

Sam moans into the kiss, grabbing the longer hairs atop Dean's head and pulling just enough that Dean can feel it. 

Dean offers a series of short, teasing kisses before placing his hands on Sam's chest. With a gentle push he asks, “You sure you're not looking for more?” The corner of his mouth turns up in a smirk which Sam kisses right off his smug face.

“I'm sure.” He lets go of Dean after one last press of their lips.

“In that case... I have something else for you.”

Sam steps back with a half-smile, giving Dean room to slide the pizza onto the oven rack. “You do?”

Dean shrugs, “Well, yeah. I didn't know about all this,” he gestures to the entirety of Sam's body, “now, did I?” He hip-checks the oven door closed and makes his way to the pantry. “Didn't expect to spend your whole trip in bed. Although, now that that's an option...” Dean's voice trails higher suggestively. 

“Show me what you've got there,” Sam cranes his neck to see past his brother, ignoring his flirtation.

Dean returns from the closet with his arms full. He lays his bounty on the table, revealing a full spread of candies from licorice to snow caps.

“Seriously?”

Dean makes one more trip to the shelf and grabs a box labeled 'Gingerbread House Kit'.

Sam stares at him, his jaw now hanging open.

“What?” Dean says fiercely.

“Nothing. I mean, come on, Dean. How old are we?”

Dean sets the box on the table and pries it open. “Are you saying that we're too old to slap some frosting on this bad boy and see how much candy we can stick to the roof before it collapses?”

“Well, when you put it that way...” Sam takes the frosting packet as it's handed to him, grinning at his brother.

Dean matches his smile with a wink, “Let's load this sucker up!”

–

Sam's back is aching before they even begin decorating. Dean was a bit heavy-handed with the icing-plaster and it took forever to dry. Sam holds the four walls up at his instruction, complaints-a-plenty. He suffers an assault of Dean's affections, meanwhile. His cheeks (face and bum) are pink with pinches, light smacks, and love bites. The random touches make Sam jump in surprise and more than once, the gingerbread walls have collapsed. 

Finally, the walls are roof stand steady. Sam leans back in a stretch, rubbing at his lower back. “Masonry is not our strong suit.”

“Nah,” Dean says, crunching on a peppermint stick open-mouthed. “But it sure is fun knocking shit down.” He whips a string of licorice at the roof making Sam flinch. 

Sam's large hands shoot forward in a shield as he shouts for Dean to be careful. “Can you just... not?” He looks up at him in a way that tugs at Dean's heart and the alpha lays the candy on the table, backing away slowly.

“I get it. This house is your baby. Tell me what I can do to help.”

After a pizza break, Sam decides he is ready to decorate the small house. Under strict observation, Dean is allowed to build marshmallow snowmen for the gingerbread yard while Sam dots the roof with icing and candy. As they work, Sam sucks on squares of dark chocolate, letting the pieces melt on his tongue. And Dean manages to munch through about half of their other building materials.

They steal quick gropes and sticky sweet kisses as they go, leaving white frosted fingerprints over each other's clothes. They're so lost in their world of gumdrops and candy canes, the return of John and Bobby would have gone unnoticed, if not for their hollering.

“Dean! Sam! What the hell did you two idjits do to my gorram house?” Bobby shouts from the living room, seeing Dean's decorations for the first time. John's laughter carries through in the background.

The boys exchange wary looks before meeting their father and uncle by the tree. “Dean did it.”

“Hey!” Dean throws his arms into the air, “Just throw me under the bus, why don't ya?”

“No, I mean. It looks good, right?” Sam stoops to pick up a stray pile of tinsel and shoves it deep in his pocket. “Don't you think?”

Neither Bobby nor John make comment as they take the sight and scent of Sam. The house falls silent. In sync, they look from Sam to Dean and back again. 

Dean takes a step closer to Sam, quietly scenting the air for any signs of disturbance. He can tell that they know; Bobby and John have already worked out that Sam is an omega and he has been claimed by Dean. Now, the four of them wait.

It's John who breaks the silence with a soft, “C'mere,” and a wave of his hand. Sam crosses the room in a few long strides and is pulled into a welcoming embrace by his father. John's arms are warm and strong and Sam can, for the first time, sense the acceptance and compassion of their father. He wonders if this scent is always present, even when John is fuming mad and yelling about their latest fuck-up. Perhaps this scent is why Dean is always sticking up for their father and assuring Sam that he's a good man despite his flaws. Seeing his father in a new light, Sam hugs him tighter. He's awarded a few slaps on his back before he's passed along to Bobby.

Bobby grabs him for a firm hug and grumbles, “Can't say this was much of a surprise.” His voice drops lower, “But the house looks ridiculous. You know that, right? Seriously, Dean ain't got a lick of sense.”

“I'll help him out,” Sam laughs.

“Well, it's good to see you, boy.” Bobby holds him at his elbows, unable to comfortably reach the man's shoulders, “Welcome home.”

Sam smiles and really means it when he says, “Merry Christmas.”


End file.
